Determination, or desperation?

[Samwich]

I had given up entirely on winter in Whistler. On March 15th, I gazed wistfully at the craggy, nude peaks above me, and hopped in a car bound for Seattle. I planned to return the following Sunday with my bike, prepared to embrace the spring temperatures and throw my last remnants of hope for snow out with my battered, core shot riddled skis.
Then, on Saturday evening, I got a phone call.

"Sam, I'm sitting in the Roundhouse right now. It's dumping."

That was all I needed.

"See you at 7:15 tomorrow at the base of Whistler."

My friend and room mate had relationship obligations to deal with, and he was my ride. Our departure was postponed until the ungodly hour of 2:49 am. We could have slept in, but we needed to get first gondola. We moved to Whistler for the powder days, and neither of us was willing to miss a single minute of what could be the only one of the season.
The first leg of the drive was largely uneventful. It was smooth sailing north from Seattle and through Bellingham. As we neared the border, the sun started to peak out from beneath the distant horizon, lending a beautiful orange tint to the sky. We were excited to see the sunrise in its full glory while driving the Sea to Sky. We were anticipating a reasonably modest amount of new snow and a bluebird sky. However, that was not to be. As soon as we crossed the border into the Great White North, it started raining. The further north we went, the harder it rained, until it was coming down in sheets. Road conditions didn't allow us to drive the speed limit, so our ETA of 7:15 was discarded with a pang of regret. That didn't last long, however, because we realized that that kind of precipitation, with those kind of temperatures, meant that it would almost certainly be puking in Whistler. Elation does not begin to describe the emotion we felt during those moments.
And then we saw the flashing lights. I slowed the car to a halt at the end of a line of three cars. There was a miserable Mounty standing in the middle of the road without protection from the deluge. Behind him was a police car and an ambulance. Beyond that, there was darkness. The first car in line turned around and headed south. I felt bile rise in my throat as I realized what was happening. I still refused to quite believe it. The second car turned around as well. I felt faint. I rolled down my window, and the policeman said something that was lost to the steady roar of the rain pounding the pavement. Or maybe it was my pulse pounding in my temples. He repeated himself, water running in steady streams off of the brim of his hat.

"There's been a huge mudslide. The road's most likely been washed out. It'll take at least three days to clear it. Turn around and head on home."

In a trance, I obeyed his orders. I pulled over at the nearest available turnout. I looked over at my friend. His face was a mirror of my own. There was a mix of determination, stubborness, and sheer stupidity. There is no was in hell we were going to miss that powder day. Not when we worked so hard for it. We began to assess our situation.
For one crazy moment, we looked contemplatively at our mountain bikes. Sure, the slide was impassable in a car, but I've ridden my bike through thick mud before. That idea was quickly abandoned when we realized that neither of us had anything remotely waterproof with us. We pulled out the map. There was another way to Whistler, but it would be a long drive, and if the Sea to Sky was closed as a direct result of inclement weather, there was a possibility that this road would be as well, but we had no choice. We started immediately. It was 6:15 am.
We drove south to Vancouver again, and then east. The rain kept up a steady assault on the windshield; the wipers were only useful on the fastest setting. We passed small, seemingly identical Canadian towns without noticing them. About 130 km later we reached Hope and turned north. We said little during the journey. I maintained a steady grip on the steering wheel. It didn't feel as if I was steering. The car seemed to remain stationary while the road straightened out before us. Somewhere along the way, the rain had turned to snow. A blanket of white graced the surrounding scenery. BC is a beautiful province, but we barely had time to notice. My navigator and copilot, as I had come to think of him, was sleeping in preparation for his stint behind the wheel.
We didn't stop often, and then it was only to refuel: gas for the car, 44 oz. cups of coffee and Red Bulls for us. The farther north we ventured, the stranger the road became. To our left, at the foot of towering peaks, snaked the Fraser River. To our right, the ground rose steeply and dissapeared into the clouds. The road looked as if it had been long neglected. Although there were no 'Watch for Falling Rocks' signs, we were all too aware of the danger the cliffs to our right posed. In some places, the road narrowed to a single, boulder-strewn lane with a drop to our left and a steep rise to our right. With no recourse but to push forward, we carefully navigated the most treacherous sections. Somewhere around Lytton, we changed shifts. I gratefully settled into the passenger seat and left the steering to my copilot's able hands. I was unable to fall asleep, my blood containing enough caffeine to keep an entire college residence hall awake through Finals week. I watched the road as it took us slowly but surely to Lillooet.
Whistler is approximately equidistant from Lillooet and Vancouver, but the road southwest from Lillooet isn't nearly as well maintained. We drove over high mountain passes, past emerald-green glacier fed lakes, through small rural villages that were unmarked on the map. It seemed as if it snowed harder with every kilometer we pushed south. There was a huge storm system moving through BC, and it looked as if Whistler was the epicenter. We had nothing to do but marvel at the scenery. We had long since listened to all the mosic we had with us, and the stereo sat silent.
Finally, and seemingly without transition, we passed from an indeterminate rural town into Pemberton. We were only 35 km north of Whistler. We exchanged weary yet triumphant glances and forged ahead.
We pulled into our driveway in Spring Creek at 12:49, exactly 10 hours after we left my parent's house in Seattle. It was still puking; no rest for the weary. We hurried inside, hurriedly dressed, and ran out the door. 15 minutes later we were on the Blackcomb gondola, staring out the window as the blizzard silently blanketed the surface of the mountain with feet of fresh snow. We stepped out of the gondola, stretched our weary bodies, strapped into our gear, and exchanged a smile. I've been smiling ever since.

[phUnk]

That's good stuff, Samwich. Well done.

[powder11]

nice work dude. lets head out sunday or monday. supposed to dump again.

[Snow Dog]

BTW, Highway 99 was open by noon. There's a shorter route if you're comfortable with ungraded logging roads. Good determination though.

[girlski0912]

That is a prime example of devotion at it's finest. Nice work Sam!

[778skier]

Wow sam that drive takes some serious devotion, way to get it! Definetly a story to remember i bet.

[Tyrone Shoelaces]

That is awesome. All of it. Your determination. The fact that you finally got some. And your writing....very well written and expressed mang.

[glademaster]

Badass dude! Great story and serious determination to git 'er done, as it were.

[Buster Highmen]

Props, dood, props and joy.

[L7]

Nice work. You can't beat that drive from Lillooet to Pemberton any ways.

[Samwich]

BTW, Highway 99 was open by noon. There's a shorter route if you're comfortable with ungraded logging roads. Good determination though.

One lane of 99 was open by noon. Not one lane each way, just one lane. It would have taken almost as long. Had I known it was going to open, I would have waited... but the uncertainty made me go for the long haul. Also, the ungraded logging roads are marked on my map 'for summer use only (4 x 4)' so I decided that, discretion being the better part of valor, I would put a few more miles on the odometer rather than risk getting the car stuck in the middle of bumfucked nowhere.

[Samwich]

nice work dude. lets head out sunday or monday. supposed to dump again.

I heard! I'm already planning the trip to Lillooet for saturday night. Powder is way better when you work for it.

I'll call you when it snows.